It's 3 years now since Michael Haneke's film 'Hidden' threw Time Out's film rating system over the edge. So sensational was this celluloid epic that the reviewers had to award it an unprecedented, nay impossible, 6 out of 5. The repercussions in the squalid world of reviewing were considerable: 6-star movies were quickly followed by 6-star hotels, and no footballer's effort was deemed sufficient unless it topped %300. So no surprise that in the build-up to this latest cinematic release, Sunday Lunch at the Felin Fach Griffin, teaandbiscuits programmers were permanently on station in case an 11 Jammy Dodger category needed to be created. Could this be the Holy Grail of Cardiff restaurants? And the first totally satisfying Welsh Sunday lunch to boot?

The Griffin is indeed formidable. On so many counts. It charms you even from the Brecon bypass, cheekily hiding behind its lesser neighbour The Plough, whose whopping brown signpost attempts to trump its senior partner. From the car park you gaze up to mountains on all sides. This is very much an inn at one with its surroundings.

And that relationship with the landscape is one which The Griffin capitalises on wonderfully. There's a produce display in the lounge, today advertising end-of-season artichokes and early rocket for sale. Or take your pick from jams and chutneys on the shelves. Almost every restaurant seems to boast about its seasonal ingredients in today's post-Jamie world, but very few carry it through with this conviction. Everything on the menu chimes with the springtime scenery outside. There's a succulent ham hock terrine with crispy pea shoots so fresh they seem to be still complaining at being yanked out of the ground. The deep-green wild garlic soup momentarily transports you to nearby hedgerows, and this was the perfect moment to serve a boiled egg in a creamy morel soup, even if its maltiness was drifting a little too close to Horlicks. Come on, the diners aren't THAT old in here.

The roasts are as impressive as you'll find anywhere. Beef and lamb have astonishing levels of flavour, and both served beautifully pink. We can probably forgive the parsnips being firm rather than chewy, especially with the spectacular creamed leeks. Even the gravy has been cultivated as lovingly as Burgundian vintage, although the star anise set it drifting a little to far east for some tastes. But what's most impressive is the attention paid to flavour combinations, especially in the desserts. Rice pudding with a mango sorbet has no right to work at all, nor does a rich chocolate slice with banana ice cream, but they are both works of genius. And just to prove that sometimes simplicity is the best answer there's an unadulterated sharp lemon tart which speaks for itself with oratorical skills every bit the match of Barack.

Perfection then. Roll out that 10th Jammy Dodger, if not the fabled 11th. Well, not quite. Whilst it would not be a surprise to see a few awards heading down the Brecon bypass, a first Michelin star even, there is room for improvement. The music appears to be programmed by a tone-deaf monkey who has been incarcerated in a box playing Classic FM and Radio Solent simultaneously. Only such simian lunacy could take us from Tavener's 'The Lamb' to Jean-Michel Jarre via Delibes's 'Lakme' in the crack addict version. The service is just a little underwhelming too. Efficient, attentive, but not quite the heart-warming welcome which makes you feel you're round your mum's.

So for now the 10th (and 11th) dodger remains under wraps, its jammy orb glistening amidst the golden chewy surrounds. It may yet be needed, but only when they let the monkey out.